


tomorrow is a different day

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Hospitals, Septicemia/Infected Wounds, This started out as a cute fic, and then became very angsty, what in the world is wrong with me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9525740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: Set circa S2. "Because, she loves him almost as much as she loves her job." Rigsby/Van Pelt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Per usual, I own nothing.

It all starts with a typical, ordinary case; a little girl, a grieving father and a mother, who merely pretends to care about how and why her five-year-old daughter is getting sick. Jane, per usual, closes it in a record amount of time—but Grace, _poor_ Grace somehow ends up tripping over the vengeful mother (who swears _up and down_ that she has no idea why her little _precious_ daughter was getting sick, even though there’s a half-empty bottle of eye drops in her purse), scraping her knee on the linoleum floor.

Grace thinks nothing of it, until there’s dried blood on the inside of her jeans and Wayne’s bandaging her knee, his cool fingers dancing across the tender scrape.

           

 (“You could have been a nurse,” Grace teases him at his gentle bedside manner, while Wayne merely flashes his teeth at her. She’ll never say it to him, but she’s beyond thankful that she has him in her life. She can’t even remember the last time someone’s soothed her injuries and her heart is suddenly in her throat.)

 

She doesn’t give much thought to her injured knee, until later in the week, when she’s at work and she starts feeling _dizzy_. When the world begins to blur before her and her words don’t make sense and she suddenly _can’t_ remember where she’s put that release form—she has a feeling that something _might_ just be wrong. Her words don’t come and when Lisbon’s standing over her—telling her they have a case—and Grace is _shaking and shivering and vomiting into the trashcan beneath her desk_ —they have just enough time to call the ambulance, before she succumbs to unconsciousness.

 

::::

 

When she wakes, there’s a needle in her arm. There’s also a steady amount of _beeping_ from those annoying hospital machines, and Wayne’s right by her side. He’s sleeping in the plastic chair, his cheek lulling on his shoulder, as his fingers are entwined with hers. She blinks at him twice, before it hits her that she’s _in_ the hospital and the last thing she can remember is well…not remembering.

 

She doesn’t want to wake him, but she also doesn’t want Lisbon finding out that they’re in a relationship _this_ way. Lisbon may not ask questions, or _assume_ anything more than a close friendship is going on between her two employees; but eventually, Patrick Jane would ask those hard questions and she can’t risk her career _or_ her love life all for a relationship.

 

(Because, she _loves_ him almost as much as she _loves_ her job.)

 

“Grace?” She hears him lowly and she glances over at him. “How are you feeling?” Her throat is dry and her stomach is churning, but she has a feeling that neither of those things are attributed to her illness. She doesn’t say anything as he kisses her forehead and disappears into the hallway, probably gaining the attention of the nurse on duty. She says nothing until after the nurse steps into the room, and checks her vitals and explains, _it’s septicemia_ without a beat. Rigsby kisses her forehead and she closes her eyes, leaning into his touch.

Tomorrow, she’ll tell him to leave. Tomorrow, she’ll tell them they can’t do this anymore.

Today though, she just wants to be  _with him_. 


End file.
